


Apparition / Soul's Flight

by sunflower1343



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: A major character death precedes one story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3171916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower1343/pseuds/sunflower1343
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two separate fics from a poetry challenge (based upon a single poem). The first is a Feilong drabble about him and death. The second is one about Asami and death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apparition / Soul's Flight

**Author's Note:**

> This is another work from the long-defunct VF_scribbles community. We were told to choose a poem and base a fic upon it. I love Octavio Paz and was going to choose Two Bodies or Touch, but when I re-read them I thought they were perfect, especially in relation to Asami and Takaba and didn't see a point in writing something based upon them. They're quoted on my LJ but I don't wish to post them everywhere, so if you wish to read them please go here:  
> <http://sunflower1343.livejournal.com/22088.html>
> 
>  
> 
> Originally posted Jan 2006.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Titles: Apparition / Soul's Flight  
Theme: poetry  
Characters: Feilong / Asami x Takaba  
Rating: PG for both  
Time: about 60 minutes total  
Warnings: The second contains a character death.

 

**"In the Lodi Gardens"**

The black, pensive, dense  
domes of the mausoleums  
suddenly shot birds  
into the unanimous blue.

_By Octavio Paz_  
From  East Slope  
Translated by Eliot Weinberger 

 

Apparition

 

Death becomes him.

He wears it like a silken cloak draped over his shoulders, waves of it pouring off him as he glides through the cemetery. It trails behind him, mingling with his long hair, almost visible, almost but not quite. Enough to disquiet any who see him from the corners of their eyes.

He frequents the same places among the graves. All are people who died before their time. He makes no conversation, offers no gifts. He simply stands for a moment on each doorstep of death, as if expecting it to open, only to silently vanish when it fails to let him in yet again.

No one knows why he comes. No one knows what he wants. He is as illusive as any apparition. Yet all note his passage. Men with protective gestures. Animals by simply fleeing, taking to the woods and skies. Even as they're drawn by his beauty, they fear his touch.

He is their angel of death.

 

~end~

 

 

Soul's Flight

 

The day was a beautiful one, at odds with what was occurring beneath it. 

He stood at the edge of the gathering of family and friends, a shadow against the green of the gardens. If the people around him had known him, they would have noticed that he was uncomfortable. But they didn't know him. The only one who came close to claiming that lay before them, shrouded, no longer aware of him.

So he stood there, cold, silent, a figure of unease, as the others gathered and wept together, remembering their favorite son and friend and brother.

He stood and listened as they spoke of him, of his generosity and compassion. Of his passion for photography. Of his love for life. Only a tic at his cheek betrayed his jaw clenching repeatedly as he stood there, offering nothing but his presence.

They finally put him to rest inside a mausoleum. An anonymous friend had given him the resting place. They exclaimed at its beauty, its peaceful simplicity at odds with the character of the young man who was to rest there. Except for the photos on the walls. Some were by him, some of him. It had been requested that everyone donate one, so that anyone visiting him would see him as he had been, full of laughter and fire. 

As they slowly filed out, his empty eyes followed their movements. The priest hesitated at the entrance, as if to say something, but when the cold stare turned upon him his vocation fled him and he escaped to the sunlight, leaving the dead alone.

He walked about the room, looking at each of the pictures. He saw through others' eyes. They were windows to something he hadn't had.

His footsteps echoed through the empty room as he approached the sarcophagus across the black marble floor. His hand lifted and traced the white veins in the smooth cold stone. He had no appropriate photograph to offer. No suitable memory to share. Things hadn't grown to that point, and he hadn't encouraged it. He'd thought there would be time.

His fist clenched and he swung at the wall. The crack of his bones startled birds in the garden through the stone lattice, sending them to the skies. 

He stood there, blood dripping to the floor, his eyes following their flight as they carried Akihito's soul forever beyond his touch, not realizing his own had been taken as well.

 

~end~


End file.
